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Dizzy Dishwashers/Story
The page contains the story of Dizzy Dishwashers. Dizzy Dishwashers Stringer & Tubby had started to write a new song. Sharin Wishes. It’d been sitting in the back-back of a drawer, so old and in such bad handwriting that they could immediately determine it was Stringer’s 10th grade pining song. Most likely after events of the Tubby’s Dad’s Apartment Date wherein Tubby’s dad told them to clean the dishes and they had way too much fun. The most inaccurate part was a verse about either of them having siblings. Singing it again with another ten years of musical experience really gave them a trip down memory lane, sounding just like they thought it did back then with minor tweaking. It was the gayest they’d been in front of Scotty. Anyway, Stringer decided his favorite part was the chorus, he constantly hummed or muttered in around their apartment or their job. Ironically enough, half their job called for them washing dishes. “Sharin’ wishes, over dishes, I was full of love for you~! Full of love, full of love, for yo-o-o-ou!” Stringer sang as Tubby brought over a tray of plates. “You’re full of love for me, huh?” “Sure am!” Stringer answered without missing a beat. “Oh great,” Tubby said, placing pen and paper in Stringer’s apron, “Then you love me enough to take over waiting tables? Aw, you’re the best, babe.” “Ha-hey wait!” “This is a two-person relationship Stringer, we both have to contribute,” Tubby said, quickly tapping his partner's nose. “You get paid just fine up there!” “It’s arm hour.” Stringer sighed, moving so Tubby could take his position. “A good relationship’s gotta be spiced up a bit, y’know? This is the only chance you give me to be behind you.” “Tubby, that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said.” Tubby just laughed, patting his back. Stringer sighed, taking out the pad and paper. “Your brother asked me to your house for dinner, wonder why,” Tubby said, completely monotoned. Stringer just sighed louder. “I’m starting to regret writing songs about our relationship.” “It’s been nine years and you only started now, huh?” “Have fun sharin’ wishes over dishes I was full of love for you,” Stringer fired back, having a harder time resisting singing. “Aw, thanks, babe. Here’s to hoping no ones rude to you.” “Is that why you wanted to switch with me?” “Oh, absolutely.” “...you wanna talk about it?” “Oh, Stringer, you know I conceal my negative emotions around holidays.” “When we get home?” Tubby softened his voice, finally focusing on his work, “...maybe.” Stringer waved at him, leaving, humming their chorus. Only one person stood at the queue, human, in a dark suit, orange kerchief in place of a tie. He had sunglasses, a shaggy mustache, and pager in one ear. “Booth, please,” he muttered before Stringer could ask… or even welcome. He just quietly led the man over, fanning the recently cleaned booth, pulling out pen and pad as he sat. “And what would you like to drink, sir?” “You make cocktails?” “No, sir.” “Then water’s fine.” Stringer nodded, writing, pulling a menu out of a different apron pocket and placing it on his table, walking back. In a minute, he brought the glass of water. “Are you ready to order, sir?” “Yeah, let me get a large pepperoni. And say…” -Stringer felt a wave of anxiety overcome him- “You look familiar. Are you an actor?” “Uh- no,” he muttered, anxiously scribbling, only thing legible being many messy p’s. “Shargn wishshhes ovver digshshshes I wwwaas fufulull of lovovvove for you…” “What was that?” “Mghrnrg…” “Were you singing?” Stringer whimpered, scooting away toward the back, grabbing onto Tubby. Tubby turned off the running water, shaking his gloved hands. “You alright?” “No…” “What’d you do?” “I just got asked if I was an actor and I….” he sighed, ending in another whimper, “...I’m an idiot.” he buried his face in the top of Tubby’s head. “Aw, hon.” he freed his hands from their wet rubber prison and wiped them on a nearby towel, “Okay, here, I’ll take orders you can stay back here and calm down a bit.” He took his notepad, staring at what he wrote. “...pepperoni?” Stringer nodded. “Guy in a suit. He’s got sunglasses and a pager.” “Alright. Be safe, hon.” He delivered the order to the makers and received the pizza on a thin platter after a few minutes. Walking out, he figured he’d found who Stringer was talking about. He didn’t have a pizza and was wearing a suit, in any case. “Pepperoni?” “Oh, thank you. What happened to that other guy?” “He got too nervous.” “Oh, apologies. He had a lovely song from what I could hear. I was full of love for you,” he repeated, not singing. “Oh, thanks. We wrote it together.” “You two are musical partners?” Tubby nodded. He hummed. The man then opened his flap pocket and handed Tubby a business card. Tubby gasped in surprise as he read the name. “You’re CB Schlemiel, the famous Hollywood producer!” CB nodded, smiling. “Yep. And tell you what, if you can finish and record that song before the end of the week, I’ll find a place for it in one of my flicks.” Tubby gulped, calming his nerves. “I’ll certainly tell him, sir.” With that, CB nodded him away. Tubby rushed to Stringer, who seemed calmer. “Stringer!! We just got a possible record deal from CB Schlemiel!!” “WHAT?!” (...) “What!!” Scotty screamed, in their apartment bedroom, right after Stringer and Tubby had gotten off work. “CB Schlemiel, famous Hollywood producer, my favorite Hollywood producer, first of all, came into your restaurant and then offered to get your song in a movie?!” Stringer and Tubby nodded ecstatically. “At this rate, with you two getting all the deals, I’ll be outuva a job, damn!” Tubby chuckled. “Oh, we gotta finish this.” “Hhhhh...” Stringer whimpered. Tubby turned around to start their setup. It wasn’t complex or fancy in any terms of the words. It was a laptop on a desk, and the corner it sat in was half-covered in foam. The microphone and pop filter weren’t the best, but they certainly got the job done. The same could be said for their recording and mixing programs. Stringer anxiously watched, holding his guitar by its neck. Scotty gave him a pat on the back, giving him a nod of encouragement. Not that Stringer noticed. Tubby grabbed his bass and started recording, playing out the intro, nodding at Stringer to start. Absolute nonsense came from both his mouth and hands. Tubby shot him a look of surprise, then concern, quickly stopping the recording. “...you alright?” “Haha, yeah!” “....you’re shaking.” “You were shaking too, it’s called the motion you make when you move your hands!” “Stringer, you’re shaking currently.” “See, look-!” He played out a riff that wasn’t any sweeter. Tubby shook his head, sighing, looking past Stringer to Scotty, who had his arms crossed but wasn't looking at particularly anything. “Hey,” he started, “It’s been a long day, Stringer and I haven't eaten in several hours and I doubt you have either,” he shrugged, “Let’s stop here for today and pick it up in the morning.” Scotty nodded, so Tubby focused his attention back on Stringer, “Sound good, hon?” Stringer just let out another anxiety-filled whimper. “Aw, sweetheart…” Tubby muttered, raising up on his toes to give him a kiss. When he came back down, he pulled the business card out of his pants pocket and handed it to Scotty, waving to send him on his way. Scotty nodded, giving Stringer another encouraging pat before leaving. (...) Stringer wasn’t much better the next day. Or the day after. Or to the end of the week. “Stringer…” said Scotty, who was sitting on their bed after another failed recording. His voice was soft, more annoyed than angry. “Pleasedon’tgetmadatmeI’mtryingmyhardestI’mjusttoonervousandI’msorry.” “Stringer I didn't understand a word you said.” Scotty said, just as gentle, blinking. “IknowandI’msorry.” “Hey, hey!” said Tubby, “Let’s uh, let’s play something else. Let’s play Looking!” He played out the first few chords, “Looking for the Beagles, looking high and low…?” Stringer didn’t make much sense singing that song either. Tubby sighed. “....please don’t get mad at me,” Stringer muttered, looking like he was on the verge of tears. “Of course not, hon. We’ll just…” he looked at Scotty, who just looked concerned and shrugged, “We’ll just… record it later.” he decided, “Not for some Hollywood producer. Not for some movie. Just,” he shrugged, “For ourselves.” Stringer seemed to relax himself, reaching out and grabbing Tubby’s hand, “But we’ll lose out on this deal.” “Losing out on a deal is much better than seeing you so worked up 24/7.” He took a step forward and caressed his cheek, before softly kissing him. Stringer smiled, genuinely. Scotty ''awwed ''to catch their attention. Tubby looked at him, expression changing into a concerned nervousness about if that was a good decision. “No, you’re right,” Scotty muttered, “I will hold you to recording that song sometime, though. I think it’s your best one.” “Aw, thanks.” “Sometime?” Stringer repeated, more to Tubby than Scotty, but Scotty nodded to confirm anyway. “Sometime,” Tubby repeated, giving him another quick kiss. Category:Rewrite Category:Stories